Hurt Me Like You Mean It [BL]-Chapter 35: R18(2)

Ansel groaned, a raw, guttural sound of release, his fingers tightening in Lance’s hair as he emptied himself.

Lance swallowed convulsively, the act intimate and submissive, taking everything Ansel gave him.

When Ansel finally pulled out, he was spent, breathing heavily. He looked down at Lance, who was on his knees, lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed.

Ansel used his thumb to wipe a stray droplet from the corner of Lance’s mouth.

"Good.." he said, his voice hoarse. "So fucking good." He glanced at the tent in Lance’s shorts, a cruel smile touching his lips.

"But we’re not done. I told you I wasn’t leaving until you’re wasted. Get on the bed. On your back. I want to watch you finish yourself while you still taste me."

Lance complied, his body still trembling from the earlier assault, as he crawled onto the bed and lay back on the rumpled sheets.

The room was dimly lit, shadows playing across his naked form, making his skin look even more vulnerable under Ansel’s predatory gaze.

He spread his legs slightly, his hand wrapping around his aching cock, which was already slick with a mix of sweat and pre-cum.

Stroking himself slowly at first, he let out a soft moan, the sound raw and needy, echoing the frustration building inside him.

He could still taste Ansel on his tongue—salty, musky, a lingering reminder of the dominance that had just been forced upon him and it only made his desire burn hotter.

But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

Each pull of his hand sent sparks of pleasure through his body, but it felt hollow, incomplete.

Lance’s mind raced with unspoken cravings; he wanted Ansel’s hands on him, rough and possessive, tracing every inch of his skin. He yearned for hot, bruising kisses that would claim his mouth, for Ansel’s lips to latch onto his nipples and suck hard enough to leave marks, to make him arch and beg without words.

The thoughts made him stroke faster, his hips bucking involuntarily, but his moans turned into frustrated whimpers.

He didn’t know how to voice it, didn’t dare too , not after the way Ansel had taken him earlier.

The fear of rejection, or worse, of inciting more punishment, kept his pleas trapped in his throat.

Ansel stood at the foot of the bed, his own chest still heaving from the intensity of what they’d just shared.

He was fully clothed still, a deliberate power play that emphasized Lance’s exposure and submission. His eyes darkened as he watched Lance’s hand work his shaft, the cruel smile from before twisting into something even more sadistic.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice low and commanding, laced with that edge of menace that made Lance’s stomach twist.

"Stroke that cock for me, boy. Show me how desperate you are.."

Lance’s breath hitched, his free hand clenching the sheets as he pumped himself harder, his cock throbbing in his grip. The taste of Ansel lingered on his lips, mixing with the salt of his own tears from earlier, and it drove him wild in a way he hated admitting.

His nipples hardened into tight peaks, begging for attention, but he didn’t reach for them.

Instead, he bit his lip, stifling a louder moan as his hips lifted off the bed, seeking something more. "Ansel..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, a mix of plea and uncertainty, but he didn’t finish the thought.

Ansel’s eyes narrowed, catching the hesitation in Lance’s expression. He stepped closer, looming over the bed like a storm about to break. "What’s the matter? Not getting off on your own?" he taunted, his hand reaching out to trail a single finger down Lance’s chest, deliberately avoiding the spots Lance craved most.

It was a tease, a cruel game, as if Ansel could read his mind and was enjoying withholding exactly what Lance wanted. "You think you deserve my touch? After what you pulled yesterday?"

Lance’s strokes grew erratic, his moans turning into desperate gasps as the frustration peaked.

His body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for more, but Ansel just stood there, watching, controlling. Finally, Ansel leaned down, his breath hot against Lance’s ear.

"Fine. Since you won’t ask for it..."

Ansel’s mouth was hot and brutal on his nipple, sucking hard, teeth scraping, and Lance cried out, back arching, his body a live wire of conflicting sensations, the sharp sting, the deep pull, the overwhelming need.

Ansel’s hand, still wrapped around his cock, was a rough, commanding presence, stroking him in time with the punishing suction. It was too much and not enough.

"Fuck... Ansel... please.." Lance gasped, the word torn from him.

Ansel released his nipple with a wet pop, the abused flesh throbbing. He loomed over Lance, his eyes dark with possession. "Please what? You want my mouth somewhere else? You want me to fuck that pretty face again? Use your words, Lance."

Lance’s mind was a haze of pleasure-pain. He was so hard it hurt, his cock weeping where Ansel’s fist gripped him. "I want... I want you to..."

"You want me to kiss you.." Ansel stated, his voice a low growl. It wasn’t a question. "You’ve been thinking about it this whole time. My mouth on yours. My tongue in your mouth."

Lance could only nod, a frantic, jerky movement. The admission felt more vulnerable than being naked.

"Ask."

"Kiss me..." Lance breathed, his voice shattered. "Please, Ansel, fucking kiss me."

The command hung between them for a heartbeat. Then, Ansel’s cruel smile softened into something predatory and intent.

He released Lance’s wrist and his cock, moving with a fluid, deliberate grace to straddle Lance’s hips. He leaned down, his clothed torso brushing against Lance’s bare, sensitized skin.

"Open up.."

The first touch of their lips was a shock of softness. It was a contrast to everything that had come before. This was different. Ansel’s mouth was demanding, yes, but there was a focused intensity to it that made Lance’s head spin.

He opened willingly, a soft sigh escaping as Ansel’s tongue swept inside.

And fuck, it was everything.

The kiss started deep, claiming, but then it changed. Ansel’s hands came up to cradle Lance’s face, thumbs stroking his jawline, and the kiss deepened, turning hungry.

It was all tongue and heat and the shared, musky taste of Ansel’s release. Lance moaned into the kiss, his own hands coming up to tangle in Ansel’s shirt, pulling him closer, needing to erase any space between them.

He lost himself in it. The world narrowed to the slick slide of Ansel’s tongue against his, the scrape of stubble, the hot puff of shared breath. It was a fuck with their mouths and Ansel consumed him, licking into every corner, sucking on Lance’s tongue, biting his lower lip just hard enough to make him gasp.

Lance gave it all back, meeting him thrust for thrust, his hips rolling up instinctively, seeking friction against Ansel’s thighs.

Ansel finally broke the kiss, both of them panting. A string of saliva connected their lips for a second before it snapped.

"You taste like me.." Ansel murmured, his voice thick. "You taste like my fucking cum. And you love it." He dipped his head again, but this time his kisses trailed from Lance’s mouth, down his jaw, to his throat. He sucked a mark there, one that would bruise, while his hands roamed down Lance’s chest, fingers pinching and rolling his nipples until they were tight, aching peaks.

"Tell me what you want next.." Ansel said against his throat, his breath scorching.

Lance’s mind was molten. "I want... I want your hands on me. All over me. Please touch me.."